


Out of Fashion

by mrstater



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: 18th century fashion, Corsetry, F/M, Sensuality, Undressing, a bodice being carefully unhooked, fashion porn, not a bodice ripper, powdered wigs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 07:45:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: They are human again. Human beings, with human bodies. Which, at the moment, they can see very little of.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jadeddiva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/gifts).



> Written as a Tumblr prompt fill for [jadeddiva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/): "Exploring one another’s bodies." Doubtless she expected fewer clothes to appear in this fic. But I'm such a sucker for costume dramas and _Beauty and the Beast_ definitely delivered in that department. 
> 
> Many thanks to [bratanimus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratanimus/pseuds/bratanimus) for beta-reading and helping me choose a title--always the hardest part. ;)

In the candlelight, Lumière surveyed the room. _His_ room, in the servants' wing of the castle, though he hadn't set foot here since the Enchantress cursed them. For what need had there been?

His fingers tightened around the brass candelabra, seeking reassurance that he wasn't still one himself. Wax dripped onto the side of his thumb, and he hissed at the blaze of pain, only to break out in a grin. He could feel again! Pain, yes, but pleasure, too.

And much more of the latter to come.

He strode fully into his quarters and stood the candelabra on the dressing table which doubled as an escritoire. In addition to that, the room contained a linen press, a washstand, and of course a bed--a four-poster meant for one but which fit two, if a little snugly. The whole room was snug--stuffy, too, for it lacked windows--and humble compared with the rest of the castle, but that didn't matter to Lumière in the slightest. It was all just things.

He'd been a thing.

Plumette had been a thing.

Her reflection sidled up next to his in the dressing table mirror.

Her _human_ reflection. His.

They were human again.

Human beings, with human bodies. Which, at the moment, they could see very little of.

This would never do, and not only for reasons pertaining to his knowledge that two bodies fit in the single bed. Realization flared within him like a lit candle that the sight of his own human form had been denied to him for as long as Plumette's had. She must have had similar thoughts, for they both stared silently at their reflections for several moments before blue eyes met brown in the mirror. They exchanged a smile, then, by wordless agreement, raised their hands and removed the elaborately coiffured powdered wigs that covered their natural hair.

Lumière's ruddy locks stood on end, which he hastened to smooth, but Plumette's hand was already there, ruffling them further as she dusted powder from it. He allowed this, not truly caring about having tidy hair--it would be disheveled soon enough anyway--and content to admire the way a few errant black curls escaped the simple bun she wore beneath her wig. She laughed--apparently his hair tickled--and he laughed with her until their merriment faded into glimmering eyes and grinning lips as the candles guttered.

Powder sprinkled onto the surface of the dressing table as he placed his on its wooden wig stand, while she draped hers over the knob on the mirror, close together like lovers locked in a tête-à-tête at a party.

There was one covering removed.

Now for the clothes.

 _Too many_ _clothes_ , Lumière had been wont to joke when engaged in particular activities to which being clad in so many--or any--was an impediment. Not that he'd been one to scoff at fashion. _Au contraire!_ A man in his station must necessarily cultivate a taste for it. He appreciated the intricacies of haute couture and servant's livery alike, gentlemen's suits, ladies' gowns, the various and sundry accoutrements and underpinnings.

Even now.

They hadn't had clothes for the duration of the curse, either. Well, _he'd_ gotten off better than the rest, they were all quick to remind him, with at least the semblance of a human form dressed in a suit. They didn't understand how the bronze had been so cold, so unyielding, while the textures of fabric against his skin (he had skin again!) were so…so…

His Adam's apple bobbed at the silky slither against his throat when Plumette tugged at the end of his cravat, untying the bow.

_Mon Dieu._

He released his breath when the neckcloth pulled free, only to catch it again as Plumette rubbed the fabric against her rouged cheek, her painted lips. Lumière hadn't thought her face had dimmed in his memory until he saw the golden sheen of the fabric reflected on her skin. She was more beautiful even than he remembered.

As she lowered her hands, still holding the cravat, he stepped closer to her. The tulle of her outer skirt swished against his satin breeches. He watched the pulse flicker in the hollow of her throat as his fingers brushed her neckline to work the gauzy fichu free of her casaquin jacket. The white muslin was so fine as to be almost sheer--a trifle ironic, for a garment meant to preserve modesty. This made it all the more exciting, of course; Lumière was nearly dancing with it as he drew the cloth away to reveal more of her graceful neck, the rounded tops of her breasts and the valley between. Plumette's skin warmed beneath his touch, igniting a flame that spread over his, too. Perspiration rolled down his back, making the linen shirt stick to him--yet another human sensation he welcomed after going long without.

"Perhaps too many clothes after all," he said with a low chuckle.

" _Mais ouis_!"

Plumette abandoned the cravat, draping it over the dressing table bench along with her fichu, to remove his gold taffeta frock coat with its heavy embellishments. But her enthusiastic agreement didn't make her rush to undress him further. She ran her palms down the linen shirtsleeves to the ruffles that tickled the backs of his hands.

"Everything is so soft," she said in a voice that was equally so. As if she were in awe of the very existence of softness.

Lumière had been trailing his forefinger along the lace trim from her bust to her shoulder, where the clavicle was _just_ exposed. There was a sheen of perspiration there, and he dipped his head to press his lips to the delicate bone and taste it, to inhale her sweet perfume, having lacked the senses to do either for so long. Goosebumps prickled up on her skin where the curling end of his moustache feathered it, but before he could kiss her he turned his head and flashed a grin up at her.

"Not quite _everything, chérie_." He rocked his hips forward, but of course they were met by voluminous layers of skirts and petticoats.

Nevertheless, Plumette caught his meaning, and swatted his shoulder. "Lumière! Sometimes you have no more manners than a candlestick."

"Cand _elabra_ ." He raised his head and his eyebrows, feigning an expression of innocence. "But what are _you_ suggesting, Mademoiselle Featherduster? _I_ only meant these gilt buttons on my waistcoat."

She gave him a pointed look--or tried to--only for her smile to break free of her attempt to purse her lips. _"Oui,_ mon _chéri,_ we must do something about these horrible buttons."

He watched her fingers push the first several through the metallic threaded buttonholes. Had he ever fully appreciated their nimbleness, their elegance? No princess could have such hands as his Plumette, surely. Despite a growing desire to be freed of the encumbrance of clothing, Lumière caught her hands in his and drew them up to his lips, kissing each tapered tip, each knuckle, each space in between.

What else hadn't he appreciated? What had he taken for granted?

He heard himself make a small sound of protest at the sudden absence of her skin from his lips as Plumette pulled their joined hands away, but he grinned again when she placed his palm against the swell of her breast.

Lumière was fairly certain _that_ was part of her he'd given its due. All the same, he was delighted to become reacquainted. First through the silky lawn of her pinner apron, then he plucked out the straight pins to let the bib fall down to her waist, where he left it hanging while he fitted his fingertips into the diamond shaped divots in the brocade casaquin.

"I feel as though I'm doing this for the first time," he said, fingers skimming into the gap of cleavage revealed when she stooped to work the lowermost rows of buttons. "Although if memory serves, my first time didn't last nearly this long."

"Getting impatient now, _mon amour_?" Plumette peered up at him through her lashes, dark eyes dancing with her amusement.

"That is not a word I would use to describe either of us."

"Definitely not."

She slipped her fingers inside the lapels of the now open waistcoat, rubbing the pads of her thumbs upward along the metallic basket-weave brocade trim and gilt lace as Lumière relocated his hands to her elbows and drew her upright again. He had only to bend his neck ever so slightly to kiss her...Plumette had started to divest him of his waistcoat, but stilled at the touch of his lips. Except for her fluttering heart and rapid breath, which he felt against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her narrow little waist to embrace her fully.

 _This_ was what he'd missed most of all. The proofs of her pleasure. There was nothing he would not do for her, and now he could.

Coaxing her lips apart with his tongue, he traced the edge, felt the fine vertical lines in the flesh, the rough texture of her tongue curling alongside his. At the small of her back, where her jacket's lace-edged peplum flared out, tickling, he found her apron tie and loosened it, letting the tail glide through his fingers. Continuing their kiss, she pushed the waistcoat off his shoulders and he unwound his arms from around her to draw them out. The apron slid to the floor at their feet.

She stooped to pick it up, breaking the kiss, and draped the apron along with his waistcoat over the bench. Lumière took advantage of the momentary separation to unbuckle and remove his shoes. Not that he intended to start rushing, but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared for when the moment came to remove his breeches.

But first, Plumette.

With her still wearing shoes and Lumière in his stocking feet, they were nearly of a height. As he reached for her, she leaned in and resumed their kiss, which required him to open the front of her bodice by feel. Although he was still remembering how it was to have fingers, they somehow remembered how to work the hooks and eyelets. The last one came free, and he couldn't stop himself chuckling against her mouth.

"Pleased with yourself, are you?" she murmured, the note of disapproval in her breathy voice belied by the upward curve of her lips.

"Perhaps. A little."

He was _more_ pleased with the sight of her bare arms emerging from the white brocade sleeves. His heart leapt as it had when he first saw one emerge from the pile of feathers, fingers reaching out as though she knew he would be there to meet her.  

"The stays are the real challenge," she said.

"Getting impatient, _mon amour_?" Lumière echoed her words back to her as he leaned to add the casaquin to the mounting pile of clothing on the bench, then applied himself to pressing his lips up the length of her arm to her shoulder. He heard the hitch in her breathing as he nuzzled at the strap of her stays, the loop of its ribbon closure brushing his nose. A glance up at her revealed the flush in her cheeks to be deeper than just the rouge.

"Perhaps," she said with a shrug that made her stray curls bob. "A little."

"Patience is a virtue, darling." He resumed nuzzling, pinching the end of the velvet ribbon between thumb and forefinger and pulling it loose.

"We're having a tryst," Plumette said. "Trysts are not known for being virtuous."

She grabbed for his high collar, but Lumière darted his hand out and caught her lightly around the wrist.

"Ah-ah-ah," he chided, and laughed at her affronted _hmmph_ , opening his fingers when she jerked her hand away.

Raising one of her perfect eyebrows and her chin in a look of defiance, Plumette reached 'round to her back to unfasten her skirt. She pushed it down over her hips, layers of tulle and taffeta rustling as the garment--garment _s_ , rather, for she'd loosened her petticoats, too--fell down to pool at her feet. Her hand went out, and Lumière took it, assisting her as she stepped out of the shed layers of clothing. A hatching bird...a butterfly from a chrysalis.

" _Merci_ , kind sir," she said.

Really, Lumière felt he ought to be the one thanking her for the breathtaking sight of her in only her shift, stays, shoes, and stockings. The stays lifted her already perfect breasts to full advantage, and the underdress was made of such a fine linen that it was all but transparent against her skin.

"Now." Plumette's voice commanded his attention back to her face. "Your shirt, _s'il vous plaît_?"

" _Oui, Mademoiselle_."

Lumière lost no time undoing the collar buttons, while she pulled the long shirttail free of his breeches and lifted it up over his head, his exposed skin instantly cool. He pulled his arms out and discarded it on the floor with her skirts--they were long past caring about whether anything was laid out neatly--then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. Her palms pressed to his bare chest, twirling the fine hairs as if she'd never felt anything like it. Her bare arms against his…

They weren't even fully nude, but already the warmth of her flesh against his was…

"Oh, Lumière…Are you certain a bit of you is not still metal?"

He nearly choked on his laughter. He couldn't even pretend to be scandalized at something so risqué coming from that lovely mouth.

Tilting his head back, he said with a waggle of his eyebrows, "Why don't we finish undressing and have a look?"

But he didn't strip off his breeches right away, instead began to unlace the silken cord of her stays to free her from the restrictive boning. Undressing each other like this was the most erotic foreplay he'd never considered before now. How remiss!

As he peeled the stays from her, Plumette drew a full, deep breath. Lumière put aside the memory of her taking her last in his arms, placed his hands on her waist and lifted her up onto the edge of the bed. When she was settled on the soft feather mattress, hands folded demurely in her lap--incongruous with her state of near-nudity--he knelt on the floor between her dangling legs. He unbuckled and removed one cream brocade shoe, then the other--rather the reverse of the fairytale prince, but then he was no prince. They had, however, lived something of a fairytale.

His fingertips skimmed over her delicate ankle bones and up her slender calves, the silk stockings gliding beneath his hands until the hem of her shift brushed his knuckles. He slipped his hands under the garment, pushing it up to reveal her knees, with the pale blue ribbon garters tied just above them. For a moment he lingered, hands curling over her thighs, her shift draped over them like a sheet. Warmth radiated from her. One of her hands found its way into his hair, and he tilted his face up to her and saw the quick rise and fall of her breasts, her parted lips.

Bending his head again, Lumière pressed his mouth to her soft inner thigh, untied the garter and rolled her silk stocking down, kissing his way down her leg as he revealed it.

"Shall I do the same with your stockings, _chéri_?" Plumette asked after he'd repeated the process with her second one.

He indulged a moment's fantasy and found the image a tempting one--Plumette had complimented his calves on more than one occasion--but...

"My legendary patience is beginning to wear thin," he teased. As thin as her shift, which left very little to his imagination.

But he heeded her instruction to place his foot on the bed frame and allowed her to undo the buttons at the knees of his striped breeches, untie his garters, and roll down his stockings, even flexed the calf muscle for her as she traced the shape of it. His eyelids fluttered as she slipped her fingers beneath the cuff of his breeches, rubbed the tendons behind his knee.

"Plumette…"

Lumière's plea had not been made with a specific request, but Plumette had something in mind. She withdrew her fingers from inside his breeches, slid her palms up over his thighs, to the buttons at his waist. He was nearly lost at the brush of her hands, so near, and the slide of sleek fabric down his legs. He kicked them fully off and joined her on the bed, peeling the linen shift away from her glowing skin as she stretched out on the mattress beneath him.

"You see, _mon amour_?" he said. "All flesh."

His gaze drifted from her, to the clothes that littered the floor in a trail to the dressing table. The trappings of humanity, soft and sensual. But still in the end, merely _things_.

"Lumière…"

  
Her whisper of his name, her hands in his hair, on his face, drew him back to all that mattered. Lips met, and bodies joined, together becoming fully human again.


End file.
